


Life of The Party

by adjectivebear (HealerAriel)



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: AU After S3, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Public Sex, Wall Sex, dom!Crane, in which the world's sexiest game of chicken is played
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7362421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HealerAriel/pseuds/adjectivebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crane and Abbie find a way to <em>vastly</em> liven up one of his Historical Society functions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life of The Party

Abbie isn’t all _that_ surprised when she finds herself pressed up against the wall with her wrists pinned above her head. She and Crane have been screwing like rabbits for the past couple of months, and she learned pretty quickly that underneath all that eighteenth century British propriety is a guy who can get remarkably freaky behind closed doors.

What _is_ a little surprising is that they’re not behind closed doors right now. 

Hell, there _isn’t_ a door, they’re just tucked into an empty room in the Historical Society building, so slightly removed from the rest of the party that Abbie can still hear entire conversations with complete clarity as Crane captures her lips in a searing kiss, pressing the full length of his body against hers. 

Abbie is gasping for breath when he finally relinquishes her mouth to trail his own along her neck, leaving wet kisses and sharp little bites in his wake. 

“I am _terribly_ fond of this frock, Lieutenant,” he murmurs, tracing his tongue along the shell of her ear as he runs his free hand down her flank, and yeah, the boner is a little bit of a giveaway, there. Granted, it’s not like Abbie decided to wear a skin-tight satin cocktail dress with a deep side slit and five-inch heels for her own comfort, but she sort of assumed that Crane would be able to contain himself until they got home, or at least to the car--which, admittedly, she probably _shouldn’t_ have, knowing full well how horny he gets after a few glasses of red wine. 

“This isn’t exactly a private party, baby,” she warns, arching against him as he hikes her skirt up over her thighs because, fuck, the whole public indecency thing is actually kind of doing it for her right now. 

He catches her earlobe between his teeth. “Then perhaps it would behoove you to mind your volume.”

“Big talk from the moaner in this family,” Abbie taunts, licking his cheek as his fingers slip between her legs. She feels him stiffen--in multiple senses--as they meet bare skin. 

“You’ve forgone undergarments. How wonderfully _convenient_.” 

Abbie’s intended quip about panty lines gives way to a snicker as Crane fumbles to open his pants with one hand. “Zippers,” she says pointedly. “One of the foremost marvels of modern engineering.” 

“Your sartorial advice is duly noted, Miss Mills.” 

“I’d lend a hand, but--” Abbie wiggles her fingers for emphasis--“mine are a little tied up at the moment.” 

Crane presses an open-mouthed kiss to her jaw as he finishes freeing his erection from confinement. “They are.” He drags his tongue down her neck. “And they shall remain so until such time as I see fit to release them.” 

Abbie shivers. Yeah, _super_ glad she opted out of the panties. “Aye-aye, Captain,” she says, realizing when he buries a groan in the juncture of her neck and shoulder that her voice came out a whole lot pornier than she intended.

She’s so wet that she barely feels the first finger he slides into her, but then he adds another, and _oh_ , that she _definitely_ feels. She bites her lip to keep herself quiet, her hips writhing as he pumps those long, elegant digits slowly in and out. 

He curls his fingers just so, and it’s all Abbie can do to stifle a moan. 

She opens her eyes just in time to catch a devious twinkle in Crane’s, and in that instant, it all clicks. The manhandling, the dominance, not letting her get in any groping of her own: Crane’s trying to make _her_ be the one who gets loud enough to give them away. 

Oh, motherfucker, it’s _on_. 

Abbie moans, just loud enough so that only he can hear, “Mmm, right there, baby. God, you make my pussy so wet.” 

Even in the dim light, she can make out the flush rising in his cheeks the instant the words leave her mouth. 

_How do you like me now?_

She flicks her tongue against his lower lip. “Your fingers are nice, baby, but your dick’s better. You gonna fuck me?” She sees his throat working, feels his fingers twitching, and can’t resist gloating a little. “You’re not getting bashful on me now, are you, Crane?” she purrs, giving his chin a little nip. 

Crane fixes her with those world-class bedroom eyes. Without saying a word, he withdraws his fingers from her pussy. He lifts them to his mouth, holding her gaze while he licks them clean. 

Sweet baby Jesus, he’s on his A-game tonight. 

Abbie still intends to win, though. 

Swallowing against the sudden dryness in her mouth, she says, “I’m dripping for you, baby. Are you hard for me?” It’s kind of a ridiculous question to ask while he’s poking her in the stomach with the answer, but then, dirty talk isn’t really about logic. And it _does_ seem to have the desired effect, she notes as a violent tremor wracks his body. Slowly, deliberately, she licks her lips, a little thrill of triumph running through her as his eyes track her tongue. “Fuck me, Crane.” 

And Lord have mercy, but the man can take an order. 

In a flash he’s hooked one of her legs over his hip, supporting her ass with his free hand, and Abbie throws her head back in a silent scream as he plunges himself in to the hilt. 

“ _Abbie_ ,” he groans into her neck, and he only ever calls her that when they’re having sex, and damned if she’s not too turned on right now to even tease him about it. 

Abbie wriggles her hips in search of leverage and, finding none, realizes with a fresh flood of arousal that she will, indeed, have to just let him fuck her. Much as she’s lamented her size over the years, she finds it a blessing now as she winds her other leg around Crane’s waist, his grip and the wall at her back the only things needed to keep her aloft as he drives into her. There’s a shelf next to her head, its occupants rattling with Crane’s furious thrusts, and Abbie thinks she hears something fall, but who cares, because an honest-to-God founding father is fucking her brains out in the Sleepy Hollow Historical Society, and isn’t _that_ just the most hilarious thing that’s ever happened? 

Abbie begins to laugh, only to have the sound become a long, low moan as he hits her in just the right spot. “Oh, that’s _good_ ,” she says, squeezing him with her legs. “Just like that.” 

He makes a little grunt of obeisance, and Abbie feels him shift his angle so that he can hit her there with every stroke. 

“ _God_ , that’s so good,” she whimpers, her eyes rolling back in her head. Her fists clench and unclench wildly, still captive and unable to find the purchase they seek. “I love having you inside me.” 

Crane swears, his hips stuttering, but doesn’t stop. 

And neither does Abbie. 

“Fuck me harder, baby,” she pants, her voice pitching higher as hot tendrils of pleasure draw into a tight knot in her belly. “Make my pussy good and sore.” She bites his neck. “I want to spend the rest of this party with your cum running down my legs.” 

Crane picks up his pace, moaning something that sounds vaguely like her name, but it doesn’t matter because he hits her right _there_ and she’s _coming_. She lets out a strangled noise, digging her heels into his ass to pull him closer, and he obliges, fucking her harder and deeper as she clenches around him, and stuff has _definitely_ fallen off that shelf now, but he doesn’t seem to care as he pounds into her, sounds of bliss spilling from his lips. 

He shifts his grip, pinning her bodily to the wall as he slips his hand between them to find her too-sensitive clit. 

“Crane,” she protests weakly, writhing helplessly against his ministrations. “It’s too much, I finished--” 

“But I’ve not finished _with_ you,” he growls--actually fucking _growls_ , and if Abbie wasn’t flooded before, she sure as hell is now--sinking his teeth into her lower lip, his thumb drawing circles over her clit in time with the thrusts of his hips. “And you, my love, are not finished until I have declared it so.” 

Abbie groans, her head falling back against the wall as she feels her spent body hurtling toward another orgasm. “You’re the boss, baby.” 

Crane doesn’t respond, or maybe Abbie simply doesn’t hear him over the blood rushing in her ears as pleasure overtakes her again, this time with Crane right alongside her, his moan only slightly muted by sinking his teeth into her shoulder. 

It takes a full minute for them to catch their breath. Finally, Abbie sighs. “Oh my _God_ , Crane.” 

Crane gives her a shy little smile so utterly out of place on the guy who just nailed her to the wall that Abbie can’t help but giggle. “That was... most enjoyable.” 

“ _Yeah_ it was.” 

Crane gently lets her down, steadying her on slightly wobbly legs before diligently rubbing feeling back into the wrists he’d held captive, kissing each hand as he finishes. 

Abbie smiles, rising up on her toes to kiss him. “You are just the _cutest_ thing.” 

Crane loops his arm through hers. “I believe that we should now return to the festivities, lest we be missed.” 

“Of course,” Abbie agrees, allowing him to escort her back to the party. 

Although, as every eye falls upon them, it seems that having been _missed_ is the least of their concerns. 

Crane’s fingers twitch, a blush rising in his cheeks. “Ah… yes. Well, then. _Car_.” 

“Right behind you,” Abbie says.


End file.
